


The Good Fight

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Apologies, F/M, Gen, in which Jemma Simmons gets 'screentime' to defend herself & be apologised to, post 3x20, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Right now, she doesn’t need me to be her friend. She needs me to be her doctor.”</p><p>When Fitz takes issue with Simmons' treatment of Daisy post-Hive, he chases her up on it and they talk things out. Post 3x20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeplessmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/gifts).



> It has been suggested that Simmons takes a "harsh" approach to Daisy's treatment and if she does I just hope everyone - or at least, the audience - gets to be on her side for once.

She can hear him on her heels before she’s ten feet down the hall. She grits her teeth and charges on, digging her nails into the clipboard she’s holding and trying to channel the anger she knows she is about to feel, into her grip.

“Why are you being so mean to her?” Fitz demands, giving up on trying to catch up, and aiming to make her stop and turn instead. It works, and he is met by raised eyebrows and a twitching lip of indignant, righteous rage. 

“Mean to her?”

“You were being horrible in there. She didn’t mean to do any of those things. It wasn’t her fault, and it’s not her fault she still wants it.” 

“You think I _blame_ her?”

“Maybe not, but judging by the way you were just acting, you’d still handcuff her to the bed if you could.”

“If I had to.”

She raises her chin. She knew this was coming, she prepared for it, but there’s only so much you can do against such barbed needles, from somebody so close. 

Maybe it’s the distance from Daisy, or the way previous incidents have trained him to always look again, but when Simmons lifts her chin and stares him down, Fitz softens.

“I’m just trying to help,” Simmons explains, now that she has a more receptive audience. “Everyone around here’s going to pity and coddle her and that’s fine, but we need her back on the ball and cold turkey is the only way to get that. Right now, she doesn’t need me to be her friend. She needs me to be her doctor.” 

“You’re not a medical doctor, Jemma!” 

“That didn’t stop me doing weeks of physical therapy with you now, did it? Or saving Daisy after Quinn shot her. And I did surgery – _actual surgery_ – on Bobbi after Ward blew her half to smithereens! Like it or not, for all intents and purposes, I _am_ a doctor. And, if you’d actually bothered to go downstairs and _ask_ him, Lincoln not only agrees but actually _recommended_ this. And he’s a doctor _and_ an ex-addict so- so _back off!”_  

Fitz stares in alarm as Simmons, flustered by her own outburst, pulls herself together, clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ear. With tear-filled eyes, she nods courteously and digs her nails out of the markings they’ve left on the clipboard. 

“Was there anything else, Doctor Fitz?” 

“Jemma.” He groans silently as she makes a move, but when he reaches out for her, she stops. He sighs, furrowing his brow deeply as he thinks carefully through his next words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, it’s not…I mean, it shouldn’t be your responsibility. You _are_ her friend and she needs you. You shouldn’t always have to be the hard voice. It’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not. But if it helps her, I’ll take that bullet.” 

Fitz takes a moment to admire the determination etched on her face. 

“You’re amazing,” he breathes. “You really are. And – sorry for lashing out before.” 

Simmons shrugs and looks away. “It’s okay. You’re just trying to look out for her.” 

“Doesn’t mean I should stop trusting you.” 

“No, it doesn’t.” Simmons purses her lips. She’s never been a fan of apologies, particularly, especially since they mean acknowledging that she has been hurt, but so long as things move forward and past it, they do serve a purpose. Plus, underneath the layers of protectiveness of her own position, she does find some old wound beginning to heal.

“I never said, sorry for last time too,” Fitz continues. “I got so caught up trying to protect Daisy and I was still hurt from- from the Hydra thing, I doubted you. Really I should have just asked what was going on. I know you’re not some…genocidal mad scientist or whatever.” 

“That’s good to know.” A smile flickers onto her face, a defensive one, trying to back out of the conversation. For once, she tries to swallow the deflective humour, and fails. “Look at us. Having a conversation.” 

He can see straight through it, which is something of a blessing considering the long period of his absolute obliviousness to her struggles that he had brought up. But equally as merciful, he lets her have it, and doesn’t probe until the dam comes rushing down.

“I promise I’ll do better,” he vows. “I’ll count to ten or something before I…”

“Jump down my throat?” Simmons offers. “Bite my face off?” 

 _Yes,_ he should say. _That._ But he laughs instead.

“See, that just sounds like kissing now.”

Her smile flickers from a defensive one, into an honest one for a second, and then disappears. 

“Thank you for apologising,” she confesses. “It really means a lot.”

Fitz shrugs.

“You deserve it,” he insists. “Besides, I’m sure Daisy will be thanking you when all this is over. What was that she said before?”

“The gratefulest-est patient alive,” Simmons repeats, and smiles. 

“Fitz?” Daisy’s voice calls from her room. 

“Go on,” Simmons insists. “Be her friend.” 

As Fitz takes his leave, Simmons takes a deep breath and turns back the way she was originally headed. _The gratefulest-est patient alive._

May had told her earlier, that sometimes doing the right thing is tough because sometimes, it means nobody can understand. That, Simmons finds, is true. There’s something fulfilling, if draining, about doing the right thing, even when the world wants to hang draw and quarter you for it. But there’s something even better about being appreciated – not necessarily thanked, but understood. It still feels like taking a bullet, and she’d still do it even without anyone standing with her, but after a good year of what feels like fighting alone, it’s nice to have the important people on her side.


End file.
